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Sean Bean Saves Westeros - Book 1: Sean Lends a Hand by High Plains Drifter
 A song of Ice and Fire & Game of Thrones Xover Rated: M, English, Adventure, Eddard S./Ned, Eddard S., Words: 109k+, Favs: 1k+, Follows: 737, Published: Jul 22, 2014 Updated: Feb 1, 2015  423Chapter 17
Horns blew from atop the city wall to announce the coming of the embassy from King Joffrey Baratheon, last of his name, and hopefully the three 'guests' to be exchanged.
"My lords," both his chubby squire Merle Waterman and his efficient aide de camp Olyvar called out at the same time.
Sean rolled his eyes at Cat. "Yes, we're not deaf," he declared loudly from inside his personal tent for the pair outside to hear.
Arya snorted in amusement.
His lady wife smiled briefly, overlaying the fears she'd just been expressing, torturing herself with really, about her daughter. "Do you … will she?" not Michelle stuttered.
He stepped in quickly and gave her a hug. "Sansa will be fine. Remember, no matter what they did to her, true beauty and honor lies within." After four ex-wives, each very fit, Sean hoped his platitude held a scintilla of truth; not that he minded in the least Cat's saucy figure and sweet naughty bits. Just pressing against her, the actor felt his knob begin to react. 'Down ya unruly git,' he urged his groin. Sean disengaged, dropping his hands down her arms until he clasped her hands. "Now shall we go?" he asked softly.
She stifled a sniffle and nodded her head.
He smiled reassuringly at her a moment and then turned towards not Maisie. "Think you can behave, Arya?"
She grinned impudently.
Sean beamed back at her, delighted by her spunk. "I know that look, child. The moment I turn my back, you'll be up to something. Where's Needle?"
"Father," she protested with false outrage.
"You'll need a guard," he said with mock severity. "Hhmmn, Merle won't have anything better to do."
"Ha!" Arya barked, clearly not impressed with not Ned's suggestion.
"Well, then it will have to be Olyvar," he declared.
A small, shy smile appeared on his not daughter's long face. "Weellllll," she drawled. "If you must."
Cat caught his eye, and lightly bobbed her head at the girl.
He shrugged noncommittally in response. 'Arya could do worse,' the actor thought. 'But let's see if he catches Sansa's fancy once she's …" Images of slender, delicate Sophie beaten, burned, and broken welled up within him, threatening his cool Ned demeanor, until he cast his mental picture of her into that deep, dark place in which he hid so much of his humanity. '… there's no rush for either of them, I suppose.'
When the three of them left the warmth of the tent for the cool air of the last day in February, much of the camp was up and stirring with nervous anticipation. Every man jack in the army knew of the eldest Stark daughter's cruel imprisonment and her exchange for the Kingslayer arranged by the 'Returned Lord Eddard, Blessed of the Old Gods.' Large groups of hardened warriors and merciless killers swirled about, like the bastardized Stag and Lion banners above the parapets of the Dragon Gate, seeking any open spot in the front ranks of the siege lines from which to watch the coming spectacle and catch a glimpse, a morbid glimpse even, of the young lady. Standing not far away from the tent entrance were Merle, holding the reins of two horses, and Olyvar, gripping those to a mount hardly bigger than a pony.
"Your horses, my lord, my lady, … my lumpy," not Ned's aide de camp announced cheerily.
"Why you …" Arya spat and charged straight at the source of the teasing.
Olyvar promptly dropped the reins and bent over to receive her charge.
"Arya!" Sean called out in irritation, now not being the time for petty, juvenile squabbling.
"Yeeehaaa!" the diminutive rascal shouted and leapt into the air.
"Oh god," the actor muttered.
And then surprisingly, miraculously, one slightly muddy child sized leather boot landed lightly on Olyvar's shoulder, upper back and instantly pushed off, propelling Arya even higher.
Thud.
'Well she stuck the landing,' Sean thought, struggling not to wince at the thought of what that would've done to his balls, while at the same time impressed with his not daughter's agile mounting of her saddle.
"Tada!" she squealed.
Cat gasped and then broke out a laugh.
Olyvar straightened back up, a smug look on his face.
Not Ned didn't say a thing. He simply escorted not Michelle to her horse and helped her mount in a significantly less dramatic fashion. His squire handed her up the reins. Sean accepted his reins from Merle, bobbing a quick acknowledging smile to the lad, and climbed atop his own horse. He turned his mount so it faced Olyvar. He chilled his eyes and put on the Ned face. Then and only then did he speak. "Ser," he ground out coldly. His aide de camp gulped anxiously. "You appear to be dirty." And Sean gestured with a gloved finger at the dirty boot print on the ermine trimmed cape over the young man's shoulder. Olyvar's brown eyes blinked in surprise. "Kindly make yourself presentable before you appear at the parley."
"Yes, my lord,"
Arya snickered.
Sean cleared his throat loudly and turned his head to stare intently at not Maisie. "And you young lady. Was that the best you could do?" he demanded scornfully, full knowing what delicate parts of his anatomy would have been crushed if he'd tried that stunt.
"I … well … father?" she stuttered, unsure how to respond
"The next time, I better see a flip in the air," and he spun a forefinger in circles to emphasize his point, "before you land in the saddle, or else its back to a month's sewing before I let you touch Needle again. Understand?"
Arya's draw dropped in surprise, but she was clever enough to nod her head in agreement.
"Good. Come my lady," he announced, and spurred his horse.
Catelyn quickly caught up to him. "Ned," she scolded, but he could hear the humor underlying the admonishment.
"With that one, it would just be a matter of time anyway, my love," he chuckled.
One of the two massive oak and iron doors in the Dragon Gate moaned eerily to announce its opening. But no fire breathing, antediluvian, George RR Martin concocted beast emerged from the disturbing din. Only six horses and six riders slowly came forth, three of slight stature and three wearing white armor beneath billowing white cloaks.
Not Ned waited beside Cat, with Arya on her other side. Next down from her came Robb, Grey Wind, his sweet gaped tooth wife Roslin, and lastly Roslin's brother Olyvar; who had followed immediately behind Sean and Cat through the camp and out past siege lines having smartly just discarded his stained cape to make himself 'presentable.' On the actor's other side his not goodbrother Edmure, a role not portrayed during the season, sat a strawberry roan that mimicked his own hair color. Just past Edmure came the 'hostage' Lancel, the Blackfish, Cersei's beloved prize, and lastly the Greatjon. No horse for Lord Umber though. The ridiculously large man stood menacingly beside not Niko, keeping a firm grip on the good looking, sister fucking, homicidal maniac.
"Is that … is that Sansa?" Cat gasped, pointing at the tiniest figure, wrapped up in a Winterfell grey hooded cloak.
Sean swallowed nervously, as his imagination tried to slip out of the dark place. 'She's not your daughter, mate,' a happy go lucky voice whispered. 'She doesn't know that, prat,' his conscience retorted.
"Lord Baelish appears ill," Olyvar interjected, using his young, sharp eyes to spy out anything amiss with the party riding deliberately on the paved stones of the Kingsroad leading out of the city. "Is he tied in to his saddle?"
"I can't imagine he's coming willingly," Edmure snickered.
"No, Ser Olyvar's right," Robb replied, agreeing with his friend, goodbrother, and for a short few weeks squire. "It's like he's … propped up or something."
Brynden cleared his throat. "Is there something we should have been told, Lord Lancel," he rumbled ominously.
All heads turned to stare at the slender reed. Lancel's face immediately turned red and sweat sprung up on his forehead.
"Boy," Sean snarled threateningly.
Grey Wind added a low, deep growl.
"Lord Lancel," Edmure cajoled in a reproachful tone.
The sandy haired teen trembled and shuddered from the condemnation pressing on him. "Heee's … heee's …"
"Out with it damn you!" barked the Blackfish.
"heee's dead … uhhnnnfffffffffffffff"
"Hahahah, oh well done, cuz!" the Kingslayer cheered as a spray of vomit heaved out of Lancel's mouth, most of it fortunately making its way to the ground, and not on to the little shit or those on either side of him.
A bevy of "ews" and various other expressions of disgust spilled out of most everyone else's mouths, until the Greatjon bellowed, "No you don't," and clutched tightly to his prisoner's reins and saddle straps, muscles bulging to keep the horse from bolting. The Kingslayer simply shrugged his shoulders at the foiled escape and kept laughing softly at his cousin's discomfort.
"Ptth, ptth" spat the sprog, trying to clear the acidic taste of bile from his mouth.
"Here," Edmure said disgustedly, handing over a wineskin to the puke breathed berk.
The boy rinsed, spat, rinsed and spat again, and finally took a healthy swallow; which was followed by a loud, odiferous belch.
Another brief chorus of "ews" erupted as the new wave of stench spread forth.
Lancel reached out a hand, proffering the wineskin back to Edmure; only to see the offer rejected by the Tully heir's look of revulsion.
"Tell us all," Brynden hissed.
"Do so! Now!" not Ned commanded, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Lancel took a few deep breaths and swallowed hard to steady his nerves, and hopefully is stomach. "Littlefinger. He … ah … sweet talked the Queen. He admitted the truth to your, uhm, accusations."
"What?!" Sean barked in surprise at Baelish's unmitigated daring.
"Yes, yes, he did, truly. And twisted his explanation all around as to show he supported the Lannisters and, uhm, protected the King .. that is Joffrey, when he was a prince; not King Robert."
'Cheeky, fucking genius bugger.' "So Cersei let Baelish go free?" not Ned asked in confusion at the Bitch Queen's monumental stupidity. "Then who killed him?"
"No, no," the lad sputtered. "She let him return to his rooms in the Holdfast, but under the guard of Captain Vylarr and Ser Arrys. There the traitor's assassins surprised them, killing them both and setting Littlefinger free. He .. ah .. then tried to kidnap the Lady Sansa."
Catelyn gasped in shock.
"And you didn't think to tell us this before!" Sean roared.
"But the Hound guessed his dastardly intent and met him with cold steel. Hahaha," Lancel chuckled timidly.
'Good dog,' the actor thought while trying to regain his composure, 'but you're still a rabid beast in need of being put down.'
"And no harm came to my sister?" Robb shouted.
"Ahhh, no, not then," the puker answered hesitantly.
'Bastards!' "And did Lord Varys resign himself to his fate … more readily?" not Ned asked menacingly
The sandy haired head shook a vigorous no.
"He appears alive," declared Olyvar, again having scanned the oncoming party.
"Tell us," not Ned exhaled icily.
"Ahhh, after the Hound returned, the Queen, after, uh, a most vigorous demonstration."
A term that made Cersei's brother laugh yet again knowing his sister's not so sweet temperament better than any other.
"… ordered the Eunuch to remain in her ballroom, surrounded by red cloaks and both Ser Boros …"
"Useless cunt," the Kingslayer suddenly spat, though it was unclear whether he meant Cersei or Blount.
"and Ser Trant."
"Did Varys' so called little birds come home to roost?" the Blackfish inquired.
Lancel's green eyes got big. "Yes, the wretches snuck in through secret entrances, firing crossbows. Ser Boros and several red cloaks fell dead under the initial onslaught, until Ser Meryn placed a blade at the Eunuch's neck and the remaining red cloaks charged the little demons."
"And Varys otherwise surived unharmed?" Edmure asked.
"Well … mostly," the sprog agreed.
At twenty yards, brief formalities were exchanged and the simple terms of the prisoner swap confirmed. As best he could tell at that distance, with a hood hanging low over Sansa's face, his not daughter's eyes appeared haunted and horrified. Littlefinger's eyes of course appeared lifeless, no attempt having been made to give the dead man a more dignified presence. The abrasions and puffiness of Varys face showed the vicious manhandling his escape attempt had earned him. Sean felt no pity for the Spider, especially since his usual pretense of amiability and sycophancy was now replaced by an aura of pure malevolence.
"You first," not Ned called.
By the red beard, Sean suspected it was Meryn Trant who smacked the rump of Baelish's sorry nag, sending it trotting over the gap between the two embassies. Olyvar in response spurred his horse forward to intercept the dead man.
"You," called out a white cloak with emotionless eyes sitting as minder on Sansa.
'Mandon Moore?' the actor thought, trying to match faces with what he remembered from George's books. "Live another day, Lord Lancel," he called out, hoping the little puker would remember his offer and not turn overly brave when the assault on city and keep finally came. Mentally Sean shrugged. There was only so much you could control. He'd done his best. Besides, they still had the too pretty shite's younger brother, the next in the line of succession, under lock and key in Riverrun and no raving Karstark's seeking a delayed vengeance; well not yet at least anyway.
Once the Kingslayer's 'cuz' reached the other side, the blonde white cloak who not Ned had met the day before, Preston Greenfield, whispered something nasty to the eunuch and jabbed the not man's horse hard to get it moving. Even with hands tied, Varys navigated his mount straight at not Ned, causing the Blackfish to move forward and cut off the evil, treacherous creature.
As the Master of Whisperers passed near Sean, the actor couldn't keep himself from saying in a light, cheerful voice, "Varys, hope you enjoy your stay, no matter how brief it turns out."
"Faceless Man," was all that the Eunuch hissed in response.
"You," demanded Mandon Moore in a voice as dead as his eyes.
Not Ned nodded his head once at the Greatjon. Upon the unchained giant releasing his reins, the Kingslayer trotted his horse in a semicircle to plant his smug face in front of not Ned. "I'll kill you Stark," he proclaimed with his typical, easy arrogance. "I've watched you, oh yes I have, north man. You're neither as fast nor as strong as when I last saw you swing a sword; and I'd have beaten you then easily enough. Alas your death won't be much challenge now, but it will still be sweet."
Edmure, not Robb, and the Greatjon howled down the Kingslayer's open challenge, while the Blackfish busy with Varys kept his mouth shut
'I'm not even the 'man' I was then,' Sean thought, fully aware his real age and movie set trained sword skills made him a pale imitation of what everyone expected from Lord Eddard Stark. Still, he felt secure enough wearing Clint and Harry's marvelous magical armor to adlib what he thought a snappy, genre relevant comeback, "What is dead may never die, Lannister. Or did you forget I've already survived your family's worst."
"Flee now little man," the Greatjon bellowed stepping forward and waving his arms as if to shoo away a pesky rat.
The Kingslayer threw a sneer at the Umber giant, but nevertheless quickly yanked on his mount's reins to turn the horse back towards King's Landing.
"Go," Mandon Moore said to his charge.
Sansa sat petrified, unmoving on her slight mare.
"Go!" the white cloak shouted. When still she didn't move, he muttered, "Stupid wolfbitch," before calling loudly, "She's all yours Stark." The Kingsguard then started backing up his horse, causing the rest of his newly composed party to begin withdrawing back to the Dragon Gate.
"Catelyn," he whispered. Then together, not Ned and his not wife urged their mounts ahead until they bookended the brutalized girl.
Sansa's breath came in short, staccato bursts as she pivoted her frightened dull blue eyes back and forth between her parents.
Cat reached out a hand and whispered, "You're safe now."
Sansa jerked back afraid the moment her mother touched her.
"It's alright, sweetling," Sean said as gently as he could muster. Truly he wanted to scream his rage. He could now clearly see that the wary child before him sprouted both new and old bruises; her left cheekbone evidently broken and grotesquely swollen. And perhaps worst of all, aside from her crushed, terrorized eyes, her face sported a patchwork of angry red, scabs and shiny scars across it. 'Oh you bastards!' he howled within.
A gloved hand reached tentatively up towards the actor's face. "Father?" a scared, tiny voice croaked.
"Yes, princess?" he answered softly.
"Is it really you?" she sobbed quietly.
"Yes."
Her hand stopped at the top of his chest. "Truly?" she whispered.
He smiled as kindly and reassuringly as he could. "Of course."
The hand pressed against the bottom of his throat. "Can I?" she gasped.
Realization struck him. 'Of course!' He immediately reached up, tugging aside his thick cloak and pulling aside the chainmail covering his neck. "See? Not even a scar. It's all better Sansa. Everything will be good again, I promise." 'Oh god I hope so.'
"I'm so sorry, father," she sobbed and suddenly tears gushed out of the broken girl. Broken by the unforgivable sins committed against her and by the unbearable memory of her own betrayal of poor, doomed, too honorable for his own good Ned.
Regardless of the girl's stupid, deadly mistake, Sean knew he'd excuse Evie, Lorna, and Molly anything; and they lived in the real world, not this fucked up place made of George's worst nightmares. He reached over and drew her stiff, frightened body into an embrace. "It's alright Sansa. There's nothing to forgive, sweetling. We're a family again. That's all that matters." Over Sansa's shoulders he saw copious tears dripping down Catelyn's face too. "I love you," he mouthed at her. 'Blimey, I really mean it,' he realized with stunned bemusement.
His auburn haired wife smiled through her pain and joy to mouth the words back at him. Then she nudged her horse in closer as well to lean in and join the hug. Her added embrace sent Sansa into further spasms of hysterical release.
After several minutes and gallons more tears, they at last separated. Not Ned looked back. Robb, Arya, Roslin, and Grey Wind still waited anxiously nearby. The others in their party having departed with the other two new 'guests' into the absolutely silent mass of Northerners and Riverlanders pressed hard against the line of stakes denoting the edge of the siege line. "Do you wish to say hello to Robb and Arya?" he whispered.
She shook her head no.
"Later, then my love," Cat responded.
Sean waved a hand at the rest of his family. They took the clue and withdrew despite their heart rendering disappointment. "Come, now sweetling. Just a short ride and you'll be safely in our tent. You can rest there."
"Safe," his wife echoed.
With a little more prodding, the girl started her mare at a walk. Sean and Cat hovered close. As they approached the sharp pointed stakes, over twenty thousand men began to clap and stomp their feet together rhythmically. Words soon joined the beat. "San – Sa. San – Sa. San – Sa. San – Sa. San – Sa! San – Sa! San – Sa! San – Sa! San – Sa!" The beat and the cries grew louder together. "San – Sa! San – Sa! SAN – SA! SAN – SA! SAN – SA! SAN – SA! SAN – SA!"
The actor felt his daughter shiver in fright at the spectacle. Part of him rued how the tumult must be upsetting the child. But the dark part within him thought of the Lannister bastards behind, and all he could think was, 'God, you're fucked!'
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